Brotherband Chronicles: The Stones of Mnesomyne
by Mosgem
Summary: With her heroes divided and her Prince dead, the country of Greece is on the verge of collapsing with only the experience of their King and the power of the gods holding her together. The crew of the Argo embark on a quest to find the Stones of Mnemosyne and Percy leads a rebellion of which he could never imagine— while trying to cope with the fact he can't remember his own name
1. Chapter 1

**I was planning on this being a Christmas present or something, but the House of Hades came out and BAM!**

**Feels. **

**Oh, god. Percabeth feels, Leo feels, Frazel feels, Nico feels (the worst), Jasper feels... all the feels. **

**So if you guys are feeling half the pain I am, I figured you could use a little pick-me-up-and-keep-me-there-until-the-Blood-Of-Ol ympus-comes-out. I know I can. **

**So, without further ado, I am insanely excited to present Brotherband Chronicles: The Stones of Mnesomyne to all of you! This is really just an prologue, but it's very, very important. **

**I hope you all enjoy it. And, to qoute Rick Riordan himself: **

**Sorry for the cliff hanger I left you guys with last time. **

**HAHAHAHAHA just kidding I'm not.**

**But seriously, I love you guys.**

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In the depths of the Underworld, closer to the pit than they would have liked, a figure moved with the stealth and cunning of a fox. Cloaked in all black with a hood obscuring his features, silent as a wraith and moving with utter confidence despite his position, the hooded man stepped to within ten feet of the awning pit that led straight to the pits of hell. Invisible hands of darkest and malice reached out, but the air flared temporarily silver and they immediately receded.

"No disturbance," the figure muttered, looking around edgily. "So why so much silence? What has become of the realm?"

And it was true; silence in the Underworld was deafening. There were no skeletal guards at the palace doors, no few souls wandering the palace and not a servant in sight. Hades himself wasn't around, nor was his distinctive aura that the man had been feeling for two thousand years.

"Asphodel," the man decided, stepping away from the pit, his stomach unclenching slightly as the gap between him and Tartarus widened. "Then Elysium. Then Punishment."

Then, thankfully, back to the surface. Back to sunlight and stars and fresh wind and _noise_, back to where things made sense. Back to freedom.

Walking through the deserted palace, the man didn't understand how his Uncle had stayed here for three thousand years while remaining his sanity. Well… what sanity he had, that was. The walls were pitch black and seemed to suck happiness away; the floor was slippery and polished to death— no pun intended— and the air itself seemed damp and thick.

The figure stepped out of the palace, passed the gates and onto the fields of Asphodel.

Whatever she thought she was going to see, this wasn't it.

Monsters. Everywhere. Thousands of monsters, wandering back and forth, snarling at each other, biting and slashing and growling. He wasn't threatened by monsters; he had fought more than his share, more than anyone's share, but the sheer volume of beasts wandering the plain was shocking.

There were spirits, of course, but not the normal ones. Tattered uniforms, ghostly weapons and empty eye sockets were the main features that he could make out. The skeletal warriors moved in between the monsters with so little fear the man felt a worm of fear in his stomach. Their relaxed pose showed that they were not only unfazed by the monsters but also used to them.

The most unsettling thing was the lack of normality. He had been to the Underworld, once, and the spirits wandering around were massive in volume and lost in direction. They bumped back and forth, showing each other aside, walking into trees, stumbling over loose patches of grass and generally not noticing how time was passing around them. Standing at the edge of his Uncle's domain, the figure saw none of these every-day, normal spirits. He saw only monsters and warriors.

"Elysium," he decided once again, and started to move through the monsters, the cloak hiding all of his features behind shadow. Both hands remained tucked into the folds of the robe and his feet made no sound of the black soil or the dead grass. He seemed to meld into the shadows as he went, moving in between the monsters and ghouls casually as a man on the way to his friends house.

But one of the Telekhines noticed him.

The monster's first mistake: drop a massive hand on his shoulder.

The monsters second mistake: say, in an oddly low voice, "Stop."

Silver steel flashed, impossibly quickly. Dual hunting knives cleaved through the air and the Telekhine disintegrated into dust so fast it was like he hadn't even been there. For a second, action within a fifty-foot circle seemed to halt as ghost and demons alike stopped to stare at their fallen comrade. The cloaked figure stood where he was, hands once again tucked out of sight.

A Dracaena said, "Did you sssssee that? He disssintegrated—" she got no farther. The man moved again, leaping forwards so quickly he was nothing more than a black blur, knives flashing quickly as once again a pile of dust formed on the ground.

Artemis threw of her cloak as she landed on the ground, rolling up and lashing out on both sides with her hunting knives. Two Hellhounds burst into dust and before anyone could move the goddess spun in a full circle, knives still out at her side, a blur of silver as a dozen monsters felled around her. For a moment nothing happened, then everyone and everything that saw what had happened attacked the moon goddess.

She shot straight up into the air, flipping head over heels and coming down on the back of a Cyclops, dissolving him. Her twin knives flashed faster than lightning and more monsters were reduced to ash, but they were coming in faster than even she could counter. She was about to be overwhelmed.

Then— _hiss…. Smack!_

The nearest monster burst into ashes almost simultaneously— six of them, Artemis saw, all within half a second of each other.

Her brother was sliping.

In a roar of light and sound and heat Apollo appeared on the scene, eyes blazing, burning bright and hand moving so quickly from his quiver to his bow it was just a gold blur.

"Don't—" _smack_ "Touch—" _Whizz. _"My—" _Hisss_ "Sister." His final arrow detonated in a blast of sounds and the monsters were thrown back, leaving the sun god standing there grinning.

"Losing your touch, sis!" he said cheerfully, barely even looking as he sent an arrow whizzing away at the first monster to recover and charge them.

"You're not loosing your cockiness," Artemis snapped, drawing her own bow. "Chariot?"

As if to answer her, the ceiling rumbled alarmingly as if something was trying to push its way through. Dust rained down from the cavernous ceiling and the ground itself rumbled.

Then in a burst of light Apollo's sun chariot smashed out of the rocks in a near-vertical dive, pulled up six feet above the ground and screamed towards them, leaving behind it a smoking trail of monster ashes.

"Hop on board," Apollo said as it pulled to a stop, steam rising off. The two beautiful gold horses pulling it stomped their hooves and reared a challenge at the gathered monsters and warriors that were slowly pressing in on the two Olympians. Realizing retreat was the best option, Artemis followed him up on the golden deck. He lashed the reins and the horses took off, yanking on the ropes and pulling the chariot out of danger.

"How are we getting out?" Artemis yelled over the roaring of the wind past her ears. Apollo grinned.

"Same way we got in, Sis!" he replied, pulling ht reins sharply up. The skyrocketed so fast that the world around them blurred, sounds and light and feeling all melting into one as they passed through the rock and magic and darkness that kept the underworld shaded and into the world above.

They had left with exactly what they were looking for.

_Annabeth_

_Two days later_

When Hermes visited, Jason was the first to draw his sword and place it against the gods' throat.

Hector, naturally, was second.

Clarisse was third.

Most of the crew, me included, were too stunned by the sudden appearance of the immortal figure to do much but stare. The arrival of a god was like having your world tipped upside down: all the blood rushed to your head, your vision got foggy and there was this rushing sound in his ears.

Hermes looked one part shocked and two parts peeved at the blades pressed against his throat. He let out a sigh of agitation, snapped his fingers and appeared behind Jason and Hector, tapping his foot impatiently. His caduceus morphed into a curved sword, six feet long and crackling with light blue energy.

"Are we done here?"

Jason looked like he was seriously considering turning and resuming his previous position, but Hector, ever the diplomat, lowered his blade and turned towards Hermes.

"What do you want, god of travelers?" he asked, no respect spared in the part of the Olympian. Hermes's eyes shot up.

"God of Travelers?" he demanded. "Prince of Troy, I will have you know—"

"I will have you know," Jason snapped, cutting off the god angrily, his blue eyes ablaze. "That my Captain is dead. My ship is crippled, my crew is half gone and a responsibility I never fathomed possible has been thrown upon me with the weight of a thousand skies. So I will tell you right now, Hermes, neither I nor my crew are in the mood for Olympus's riddles or games."

Angry mutterings broke out across the deck, and I felt resentment bubble in my own chest. It was _their_ fault that Percy was dead. The gods had thrown us into battle with reckless regard for our lives, thinking we were just mortals, thinking that our pain was so short and worthless it wouldn't really affect us. If a thousand of us dying, half of that their own sons, meant Olympus got to live on, I felt sure the gods would barely bat an eye.

It was their fault Percy was dead.

And I had more than half a mind to show them just what kind of pain mortals could do.

"You're angry," Hermes conceded, and I rolled my eyes. If the god was just here to state to obvious then I was hoping a rogue wind would carry him overboard. "And I understand that."

"You understand nothing," Jason snapped, and Hermes's eyes flashed dangerously.

"I lost my own son to _her_," his caduceus came around to point at me. "Not two months ago. He did not die a heroic death. He was given no time of mourning my you, not but the barest feast. So look into my eyes, son of Zeus, and tell me I don't know pain."

Jason dropped his gaze.

"Greece needs her flagship," Hermes continued, his gaze softening a bit. "And she needs it now. The British will not stop pushing, not even after you've wiped out half their army. They will reach out, to France and Spain and other countries of the like and do whatever they have to in order to crush Greece herself."

"We're badly crippled," Hector said. "If the British attack now—"

"They won't," the god interjected. "Not more many weeks, months even, while they gather their numbers. You need to strengthen your crew and keep Greece in peace."

"Greece was right peaceful when we left," Nico said. "Percy saw to that."

"And now Greece won't be," Hermes replied. "Your Prince dying has created a power void that has few legal and even fewer worthy candidates to fill it." Hector cleared his throat, and I could tell he was thinking about Calypso.

Calypso, who had her heart broken by Percy years ago when she asked for his hand in marriage and instead he ran to the _Argo_, leaving her and Greece and everything else behind so he could try to escape his fait. Rejection had filled Calypso with a burning passion of hate, and she had sworn vengeance on the _Argo_ and her crew. Percy dying would create the perfect opportunity for her to get her revenge.

"So a diplomatic mission," Thalia summarized from where she was leaning against the rail. Her expression was calm enough, but I could tell by the way her spear was crackling and popping that she was barely holding herself together. "Good thing Percy isn't here; he would've hated that."

"With Percy here, we wouldn't need this diplomatic mission," Clarisse shot back.

"Prince or not, Greece calls," Hermes said firmly, drawing the attention back to him. "Now more than ever your country needs you." He hefted his caduceus like he was about to vanish, but Jason cut him off.

"Why?" the son of Jupiter asked. Hermes looked surprised.

"Why, what?"

"Why did Percy have to die?" Jason elaborated, and went on before Hermes could answer. "I know the prophecy said so, but you could have prevented it. You rained down the fires of Hades and Nyx on the British, but only once Percy was dead. Why did you let him die? Percy would've fought fate itself if it was for the good of Olympus, so why will Olympus do not the same?"

"Because…" Hermes struggled for an answer, looking as if he had a thousand things he wanted to say at once. "Because sometimes even heaven needs a hero, Jason Grace." And with that he dissolved in the wind.

_Percy_

Charon the boatman watched me carefully as we floated along the Styx, our boat moving silently in the black waters. There were plenty of other spirits surrounding me, pressing in on all sides, crowding to stay away from the deadly Styx waters, but the boatman never lifted his eyes from me.

Finally, he spoke.

"You're the one they talk about."

I looked up in surprise, not really expecting him to say anything. Maybe Charon had a habit of staring at random people while he was ferrying them to Hades; maybe I was just really good looking. Either way, the voice took me off guard.

"Excuse me?"

"The river reaches out to you," Charon said, gesturing with his long pole to the midnight-black waters of the Styx. "Not in compassion. In vengeance. You beat it once, and the River Styx wants its revenge."

Ah. So the river wanted round two. I was going to pass; my first encounter with the river had been fast, brutal and excruciatingly painful. I wasn't looking to touch it, ever again.

Being dead, must have Dulled my senses, because I didn't notice Charon was pulling something out of his robe until it was too late. The knife he had thrown was already bouncing off my skin by the time I reached for Riptide, and as I watched it hit the floor I had one thought:

_I'm actually dead_.

Holy Hades. You would think that would come earlier, but the fact I was really _here_, in the Underworld, at the end of all ends prepared to face the three spirits of judgment who would determine my faith for eternity, hit my like a lightning bolt. I couldn't breath for a second as the weight of the situation descended on me, threatening to crush my soul right there. For weeks we had sailed, the thought of my death hanging over the _Argo_ like a heavy cloud, but I never really thought it would truly happen. Death was something that happened to other people; death never really took hold of you. It was an instinct of human nature: you felt immortal until you were at Hades' gate.

The _Argo_… what would become of her, now that I was gone? Jason was a warrior matched by none other, but he wasn't built to be a Captain. He thought too much, considered every decision with a meticulous process that sometimes had no place in the insanity of battle. No, Jason wasn't cut out to be a Captain.

And Annabeth… I didn't even want to think about her. We were on the verge of having something, something special, and then fate swooped in and plucked me away like a feather in the wind. It wasn't _fair. _

Oddly, it was Charon who saved me. His voice cut like a whip through the fog that was closing on all sides, loud and clear as a bell. "Even in death, you are invincible."

"I am?" I asked dumbly, staring down at my body. I would have thought just like Achilles that once penetrated, my steel skin would disappear and leave me a regular mortal again. Instead, it seemed, I had literally carried the curse with me to the grave— something that was irrelevant. I didn't plan on doing any fighting in the afterlife. I would sit back and wait for Annabeth— but not too closely, for I didn't want her to meet her doom any sooner than she needed to.

"I wonder what they'll make of that," Charon said. I was about to ask him what he meant but before I could we were deposited on the shore. The spirits rose sluggishly to their feet and I was glad to find that I had more mobility than them; I was able to hop off the boat first and make my way to the gates of the Underworld, guarded by the massive three-headed dog Cerberus.

From what I had gleaned by story, I thought that the gates would be divided into three lines: Asphodel, Elysium and Punishment. Instead I saw only one large, slow-moving queue that snake all the back to almost where I was.

I joined it, having no other option. I was thankful to have my wits with me, unlike the lost and muttering souls that were all around, but at the same time it was a burden. While the others had no clue what they were doing or why they were here, I was painfully aware of both the past and the present: what life I had left behind and the daunting prospect that was ahead of me. Death was eternal; death was never ending.

I wouldn't try for rebirth. There was always the chance I might run into one of the crew of the _Argo_ and not have them recognize me, or worse, be reincarnated as a British. Even though I was dead, I knew I had lived a good life and had no intent of wiping the memories of it clean.

Time slipped by in a haze as the line slowly shuffled forwards until finally I was at the front. Two skeletal guards let me through into the chamber where the three spirits of judgment faced me— black robes, gold plated masks and blank expressions, staring at me with no emotion at all.

I knew that hiding behind one of those masks was Minos, former king of Greece. He was said to be a harsh judger of spirits, but I was confident even he would not be able to deny me Elysium; I had done enough service in my lifetime that I felt I was obligated in to the best section of the Underworld.

They didn't even have to ask me questions: the probed my thoughts with their minds, reaching into the darkest corners of my brain, finding secrets and desires and thoughts no one alive knew about. I felt one of them hit a wall: my Achilles spot. I could feel him straining against the barrier, trying to find the thought, trying to uncover my deepest secret.

An image of Annabeth flared and he backed off, contenting himself with searching through other parts of my brain. Odd thoughts that weren't mine detached themselves into my brain: _worthy…. Expand the army… mass recruit… worthy… is he worthy… military… lead… worthy…_

After a minute or two it stopped. The three spirits stood still, staring at me with their blank masks for a long, long moment.

Then the middle one began to laugh.

It was a deep, throaty chuckle, laced with malice and disbelief, and sent a shiver of uncertainty down mine spine. I was tempted to reach for Riptide in my pocket, but that would only get me thrown to the Fields of Punishment.

The middle one's laugh died off and it stood up, unfolding a seven-foot frame, features covered by robe and mask. It stalked towards me, malice written on every line of its body. I tensed.

"I never thought," it spoke, voice disguised by the mask. "Never would have dreamed so soon, so very, very soon. I guess you weren't half the warrior you thought yourself to be, Perseus." I felt my muscles coil with anticipation.

The figure reached up, paused for one second and removed his mask. I felt my jaw go slack with shock, the energy drain out of my muscles into a puddle on the floor. All I could do was stare with amazement.

No. It couldn't be.

"Welcome to the Underworld, _brother_," Atlas spat, a crazy grin spreading across his face. "I think you'll find things have changed just the tiniest bit."

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**I guess old habits die hard, because here's another cliffhanger for ya'll to enjoy. What do you think? Love it, hate it, hate me, hate Rick? Drop and review and please do me a huge favour by helping me get this thing off the ground and sailing like the _Argo_. **

**REVIEW**


	2. Chapter 2

**You guys honestly went out and blew my mind. There are no words I can say to express how thankful I am for all the feedback and support you guys have given me, so here's a chapter instead. It may not be the greatest, but I'm experimenting with styles so just bear with me. **

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Annabeth

Greece loomed on the horizon, but there was no sign of enthusiasm on the deck as our home country grew nearer. Jason was standing at the bow, his golden _Gladius_ glinting off of his waist as he stared at the approaching landmass. Greeks shuffled around, tending to the sails, running errands or standing on guard, but the enthusiasm was taken out of their actions. Even Leo at the helm was steering the boat with less enthusiasm than normal.

I stood next to Thalia nearer the front of the boat than the back. I missed Percy so much it physically hurt: I could almost see him there, leaping up onto the masthead, bounding up and down the deck, his grin and bright eyes and cheerful words bringing a sense of belonging and family to the whole crew.

Also I could remember his lips on mine, his strong arms holding me in place, telling me wordlessly that nothing back could happen, that Hell could rise and Olympus could shatter and still I would be safe in his hold.

And now he wasn't here.

"I can't decide who is going to be worse to face," Thalia muttered from beside me. "Pavlos of Calypso."

"Calypso," I answered without hesitation. We had encountered Percy's old girlfriend a couple of times in Greece and every one had been almost exploded in violence. Pavlos, on the other hand, would merely be saddened by the loss of his son.

Really, we should have prepared for it. The prophecy had said as clear as prophecies come that Percy was going to die. Still, we had ignored the signs, pretending that maybe Atlas would come back or maybe a miracle would happen or a thousand other things that avoided the subject of his death.

"Fifteen minutes," Leo called from the helm, his voice sounding oddly dead. Jason nodded mutely from the front of the boat, still staring blankly out to sea. Thalia nudged me.

"Lets go see if we can get through to him," she said, gesturing to her brother. "That's no way to captain a ship."

Jason barely acknowledged us as we came alongside him, instead keeping his eyes fixated on Greece fast approaching. I stood on one side and Thalia on the other. She cleared her throat loudly.

"Jason," she said. When he didn't respond, "_Jason_."

His blue eyes finally snapped into focus on the two of us, seeming to realize we were there for the first time. "Yes?"

"You have a crew," Thalia said bluntly. "And that crew needs orders. You should see to that."

Jason was silent for a long moment. Finally, when he spoke, it had no relation to Thalia's words.

"I always wanted to be Captain," he said vaguely. "I mean, before Percy hopped on board I was first mate. I followed Luke for years, watching what he did, learning from him, praising him and doing my best to be exactly like him. And when Percy came and got promoted to First Mate, I wasn't that disappointed. I thought that's okay, my time will still come. Maybe on another ship, maybe in a few years, but soon I'll wear the Captain's hat." Jason brought his right hand up and sure enough, he was holding the ceremonial leather cap that signified his rank. He let out a sigh. "I didn't realize I was like a dog chasing after a wagon. Now that I'm Captain… I really don't know what to do. It was always Percy's job to make the tough decision, Percy's job to plot the course and determine the speed and plan our next trip, and it always seemed so easy. Now…" he shrugged. "Do we go to Britain? Is Greece the right choice? Should we chase down the British and end this thing, once and for all? I just don't know. I guess after all that preparation I still wasn't good enough." He chuckled darkly. "A son of Zeus Captain of a ship… who would have thought? I make history and I don't even know what to do with the position."

"You know to go back to Greece," Thalia said. "You know that we have to fix the ship and rebuild the crew. You know Pavlos deserves to know about Percy."

"And after that?"

It was clear Thalia had no answer, but something was tickling at the back of my mind. Something Percy had said, right before he died…

"The winter Solstice," I said quietly, and both of their eyes swung towards me. Jason's brow creased in a frown.

"Sorry?"

"Percy mentioned the winter Solstice," I elaborated, feeling the idea take hold, feeling hope flood through me for the first time in days. There was a chance— a slim chance, but a chance nonetheless, that we could save Percy. "He said…. that's when Hades' hold would be the weakest. That's when we should come to save him."

Jason's eyes cleared slightly and he shared an amazed look with Thalia. For a second his mouth worked wordlessly as he tried to come to terms with what he was hearing, and then he spoke.

"There's never been any accounts of spirits coming back to life," he said quietly. "Well… not entirely. Souls have come back, yes, but they're not human entirely, and Hades always finds them in the end. Thanatos has doors… the Doors of death. But they're in Tartarus and inaccessible to anyone. For Percy to come back that way, he would have to board them, have someone in the Underworld send him up and then have us ready to receive him on this end with only a twelve minute window to spare. It's just not feasible."

"What if we went in to the Underworld?"

"We couldn't bring Percy back alive," Jason said, shaking his head. "He would be a spirit, lost and fragmented. He wouldn't be fit to Captain a ship."

I felt my hope slowly ebbing away as Jason spoke— apparently; rescues from the underworld were neigh impossible. Still, the new Captain didn't look like he was giving up.

"I'll get Malcolm on it," he said, his voice full of authority— more than I had heard it since Percy died. "In all our library there has to be something about escapes from the Underworld."

"I can help," I volunteered, but Jason shook his head.

"I'd feel better with you by my side in Greece," he said. "When we have to announce to the royal court that Percy's dead." I grimaced at having to face that task; I would much rather be buried in the library looking for a way to save Percy than trying to tell his father what had happened.

Of course, that moment came too quickly. We docked at Greece's main port, throwing thick lines over the boat for dockworkers to secure to land. Jason led the tired and bloody crew of the _Argo_ down a ramp and on to solid ground, where we gathered grimly.

We should have been triumphant. We _would_ have been triumphant, had Percy been standing there with us. Instead Jason quickly divided us into groups. Thalia, Nico, Hector, Jason and I would go to the Royal Court where a precession should be waiting upon our arrival. The other crew would be divided into two parts: one with Leo in charge would stay behind to fix the _Argo_. The other half, lead by Clarisse, would begin the long recruitment process to rebuild our crew to its full numbers.

The five of us must have looked grim enough as we climbed the long hill up to Greece because the crowds— busy on a Sunday— parted before us easily and quickly. I realized dimly as we walked that my knife was still banging in its sheath against my leg; I was still wearing my breastplate, and my shield was slung over my shoulder. I'd not properly slept since the night before we retook the spring for Greece, and I was sure it was beginning to show.

Our journey up the hill was silent and quick. Two guards met us by the entrance to the royal court, lances crossed and barring our way. Jason was having none of it; he stepped forwards briskly. "Captain and crew of the _Argo_, reporting for formal hearing of court, ready for appearance. Has the court been prepared?"

"Where is Prince Perseus?" One of the guards asked suspiciously, and Jason glared at him with icy blue eyes.

"_Has the court been prepared?_" he snapped, and the guard seemed to shrink under his look.

"Court is ready and waiting… Captain," he said, the last word coming our reluctantly. Jason just nodded and we strode past them, across the red pathway to where the dual doors of the throne were sitting. I remembered Percy bursting into those doors on the hearing when it was determined if I was to be executed or not, Percy framed by the light, his royal cape billowing, his green eyes shining, promising to move heaven and earth to guarantee my safety.

And I couldn't do the same for him.

Jason stopped at the doors for a second, leaning against them and taking several deep breaths before slowly pushing them open, the task seeming to take more energy than it should.

We were greeted by the Royal Court of Greece, landlords, workers, nobles and King Pavlos all staring at us. Seated to his right was Stelios of Sparta. I had seen the Prince lounging in the court, playing with knives, tipped back on his chair, sleeping or polishing his blade. Now he sat straight-backed and stern-faced next to his King, obviously fearing the worst. As we entered both of their eye's swung towards us, searching for the barest of seconds before their worst fears were confirmed. Pavlos's face fell for a second before he regained his icy composure. Stelios blinked.

Theron, on the other hand, wore an expression so smug it was all I could do not to stride over and slap him.

Abderus, the judge, spoke first. "Jason Grace," he said, his voice low and carrying across the huge courtroom. "You have returned."

Jason seemed struggling to speak for a second, unused to making large public appearances like this. I felt myself stepping forwards and answering the question.

"We were successful, my lord," I answered, my voice ringing loud in the chamber. "The Spring of Immortality has been destroyed, once and for all."

Abderus nodded slowly. "And the British?"

"Dead," I told him. "Some by us, some by the gods. The invincible knights were killed by Percy."

"Where is he?" Calypso called out from her place on the other side of Abderus from Pavlos and Stelios, her voice dripping with innocence. "He's Captain, after all. Was he too tired to attend?"

"Percy—" I gulped down air, not willing to admit it, not willing to say the words lest they make it real. "Percy is—"

"Percy is dead," Thalia said shortly, coming to stand next to me, her comforting hand on my shoulder. Gasps echoed around the room. Abderus looked down sadly; Calypso and Theron shared a look that made me sick and Pavlos merely stared at me, his jaw tight.

"Perhaps," Abderus said, his voice silencing everyone quickly. "You would like to tell us how. Share the tale, Miss Annabeth Chase, of how your Prince died."

"Excuse me," Theron spoke up, before I could say anything. "I don't much like the wording there, Abderus. Wasn't Perseus _my_ Prince as well?"

Stelios's chair banged onto the ground as he fell onto two legs from where he had assumed his normal position, ready to hear of Percy. His brown eyes were dangerously narrowed and his mouth was drawn in a pale line.

"Percy was never your Prince," he hissed angrily. "He may have been your ruler, he may have been your superior, but you were never a good enough man to call Perseus Jackson your Prince."

"Miss Chase," Abderus snapped before an argument could start. He glared at Theron, obviously disliking the way he had been addressed— Theron had quite blatantly forsaken the honorary title of 'judge'. "I, for one, am waiting to hear of our Prince's fate."

And so I told them. Blatantly, free of lies or deceit, I told them. I didn't play up Percy's actions; I didn't tone down his mistakes. I started when we first set sail with our fleet of decoy boats, how we had all gathered around Percy with the British just over the horizon as he spoke of immortality of a different kind, how the history books would remember us as heroes and not cowards, how he spoke bravely even though his death was looming, how he lead the fleet into battle with ready hearts and little fear. I described the way we forced our way into the heart of the British, how the Riders of Rome dropped back to defend us and were defeated by the numbers of the Brits. Finally, my voice hitching, I recalled Percy walking right out into the middle of the British, his eyes blazing, and challenging King Arthur before being shot down.

Silence met my story. The court stared back at me with disbelieving eyes as if unwilling to accept our story. Finally, it was Abderus who spoke.

"This is the truth?" he asked, and I nodded. Jason stepped forwards.

"As acting Captain of the _Argo_, I second this story," he said. "On the river Styx I swear." The building rumbled slightly with thunder. Abderus let out a slow breath, trying to comprehend what I'd just told him.

Theron spoke first. "Terribly amusing story, yes, but could we get to the point? Perseus is dead and there is now a power vacuum in Greece."

"I regret to inform you, councilman Theron, that there is no such vacuum," Pavlos said tightly. I could tell the old Kings' endless patience was wearing thin— something that I had never seen before. I had, however, seen him in action— and it was terrifying.

Abderus was silent for a long moment before speaking. "Actually, my King, there might be." Pavlos looked at him sharply, but Abderus held up a hand to tell him wait. "Not at the moment, no. But Greece will need an heir to throne and someone to lead them into battle— and that person cannot be you, my King. It needs to be someone else."

"I volunteer," Stelios announced, his dark gaze sweeping the chamber as if daring anyone to challenge him.

"As do I," Hector added, stepping forth and offering an equal challenge. His green eyes, paler than Percy's, blazed.

Calypso coughed in the corner, a light, innocent sound that swung all eyes towards you. "I think not, dearest brother," she said, a sickening smile on her face. I grit my teeth. "You see, I am giving my full support to Councilman Theron to replace the late Percy in his position."

"Well, isn't that funny," Hector sneered. "Because my full support goes to Stelios of Sparta for that." The two siblings glared at each other over the space of the courtroom until Pavlos cleared his throat.

"Does it not seem fair, Abderus, that I get to choose my own heir?" Abderus shifted uncomfortably.

"It would seem so, my King, but you are being challenged by a legible Princess. This means that the court will go under review for the most suitable replacement."

Stelios shot to his feet, his sword leaping straight up with a _shrink_ and pointing at Theron. "He owns the council!" Stelios roared, his voice rising in anger. "The sly man will bribe his way into power and then slowly corrupt Greece from the inside until he sells us to the British!"

"Guards!" Theron snapped, trying to back away from the blade. Two of his own stepped forwards but with the barest movement of his head Stelios froze them with his glare. There was a tense, thick moment in the court where no one knew what was going to happen.

I found myself stepping forwards.

"What if Percy took his spot?" I asked loudly, and all eyes swung towards me. Abderus gave me a puzzled frown, probably thinking I had gone insane.

"Percy is dead." Calypso laughed, a loud ringing sound that bounced around the room. A few people joined in, and my face flooded.

"And we can bring him back," I replied.

Silence.

"What?" Abderus demanded. I made an expansive gesture, gathering my thoughts before speaking, knowing I was walking on eggshells.

"Well, we're demigods," I said. "Unlike Calypso over there, we have methods of accomplishing things, whole libraries full of knowledge and a ship of crew willing to do anything for Percy. With the permission of Greece, we could mount a quest to bring Percy back from the Underworld."

Pavlos had gone slightly pale in the face. "Is that possible?" he asked. I shrugged, choosing to be truthful.

"No one's ever tried," I answered. "But we have our top people working on it now, scrounging mythology for any hint of how to do it. I would bet my life that they come up with something."

"Are we forgetting," Theron cut in. "That Perseus himself has questionable lines to the throne? He married into royalty and them his wife became the Oracle— the law says nothing about that."

"Theron, we've been over this a thousand times before," Abderus said with a tired voice. "As Rachel Elizabeth Dare is not yet dead, Perseus Jackson is Prince. End of story."

I caught something flicker across Calypso's face, too quick to recognize. Before I could wonder about that, Abderus was talking again.

"Annabeth Chase and the crew of the _Argo_," he said gravely. "Under Royal Order, I am giving you two weeks to give me proof that you can, in fact, bring back Perseus Jackson from the Underworld. Until this deadline passes, all elections are postponed and all candidates with withhold from meeting with other councilmen." He shot a glare at Theron. "Any objections?" When there were none, Abderus sealed the agreement with a bang of his gravel.

The sound echoed around the quiet courtroom, spelling out my growing dread.

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**What did you guys think? Next chapter will probably have Percy getting thrown in the river (what?), so look forwards to that :)**

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	3. Chapter 3

**So sorry for the long update wait, but I have midterms going on right now and I haven't had a lot of time to right. Here's a chapter, by the way. **

**Enjoy it. **

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_Percy_

I was so shocked I didn't even think to move. Atlas, on the other hand, slid liquidly to his feet and drew his massive sword smoothly, throwing aside the golden mask and black robes as he did.

I recovered in time to dodge his first swing, even though my brain wasn't fully functioning. How could Atlas be one of the Judges? I had personally sent him to his death— I had watched as he plummeted three hundred feet into the water below and then been peppered with arrows time and time again. Not only should he be dead, he should be in Tartarus— scattered forever, never going to recover. He should definitely not be sitting on the panel of judges that determined the fate of every single soul that ever existed. It was impossible that he was here.

His massive sword striking off the floor next to me told a different story.

Acting purely on instinct I shot to my feet, Riptide sliding out into my hand and bursting into full form. While he was still off balance I launched half a dozen lightning-quick blows on Atlas, trying to comprehend what was happening.

Atlas swept sideways at me and I dodged, twisting away and bringing Riptide up purely by instinct. Our blades clanged together and his went skidding across the ground and I turned, leveling Riptide with his chest.

Atlas laughed.

"You've improved, brother," he said, his voice gravely and full of an unnerving power, a raw note to it that sent shivers down my spine. "Unfortunately, you have as little power here as Hades." The two other judges behind him, silently in the safety of their golden masks, stepped forwards until they were flanking him. I gripped Riptide tightly, feeling my body hum with adrenaline.

"Kneel, brother," Atlas said quietly, ignoring the fact that I was the one who had the sword pointed at him. I glared at him, and his face twisted into a sneer. "Kneel!" he commanded, his voice echoing around the chamber, bouncing off the walls. He stepped forwards and I slashed with Riptide, fending him off for a moment. Atlas's power filled the room, snaking off of his body, reaching out to me, leaching off of his very figure in a way I had never felt before. My blade made a defiant _hiss_ as it cut through the air.

"I said," Atlas hissed, a snarl of anger on his face. "KNEEL!"

His voice boomed and his power surged. I was physically knocked to my knees as the walls around us disappeared, opening way to a black nightmare of dead grass and rock sky, every square inch filled with monsters, staring at me hungrily, anger and revenge in their eyes.

"BEHOLD," Atlas boomed, striding in a circle around where I was still on my knees. "Behold my power, brother, the kingdom I have massed while you fought your petty wars atop. Never did I think it would be such a short time before I was able to seek my revenge on you." He laughed cruelly. "But even the mighty Perseus Jackson can't fight prophecy, can he?"

"You…. What?" I stumbled over my own words, looking around at the army of monsters and souls, fallen warriors, British and Greeks and others alike, brushing shoulders with Cyclopes and Earthborn, all staring at me waiting for an order from their master.

Atlas.

How had this happened? What had become of the Underworld, of my Uncle Hades who once ruled over all the dead? Where was he now? Was this merely an illusion, a nightmare passing through before I truly moved on to death?

Didn't I wish.

Atlas now stepped forwards, his huge sword finding its way to his hand. I realized I was still holding Riptide, but before I could do anything Atlas kicked it away. I was now defenseless.

"What happens if you die in the Underworld?" Atlas asked me, standing not four feet away— perfect range for his massive weapon. "Even I don't know, brother. Right now you aren't exactly dead, as you haven't passed through judgment. Do you go to punishment? Do you merely remain the same? Do you awake in the real world?"

He hefted his sword.

"Or maybe you spend all eternity suspended in pain, your soul torn in pieces, never belonging anywhere. Maybe that's what will become of you, _Perseus_, when you die."

He stepped slightly closer.

"I've always wanted to know what happens," he hissed. "And now is a perfect time to find out."

Before I could react Atlas hefted his sword and brought it around in a massive arc, faster than the eye could follow, headed straight for my neck. I shut my eyes tightly, not willing to watch, not wanting to know what happened next.

I had already died not five hours ago.

Was that not cruel enough?

Why was I dying again? What twisted prophecy had been lain out saying that  
Perseus Jackson had to die twice, that he could never know peace, never have a place to settle down. No one could devise a fate the cruel.

Atlas's sword bounced off.

The force was enough to knock me sideways, losing my balance and sprawling into the dust in a most undignified matter. Atlas swore as his blade rebounded, taking a large chunk out of the side.

"What?" he roared, aiming a kick at my stomach. I think he broke his toe on impact. He swore again and cave a curt order to no one in particular. Immediately, two skeletal warriors materialized out of nowhere and hauled me to my feet. Atlas studied me for a long moment, his eyes narrowed.

"You bathed the in river Styx?" he asked, and I nodded mutedly. Acknowledgement flickered through his eyes— filled with hatred, but still acknowledgment— before they settled back to glaring.

"But where is your Achilles heel?" he wondered out loud, beginning to circle me. I struggled against the skeletons holding me but it was no use. "I could torture it out of you, of course, but you may not tell. I could simple throw you in a pool of acid and watch until it finds that one spot…." Atlas seemed to be favoring this idea until his eyes lit up with another. "Or," he smiled, looking at me with a predatory gleam. "I could make you forget it all together. Make you forget your mortal anchor. Make you forget the very core of your soul." He smiled, relishing the idea. Turning to the guards, he barked an order.

"Take his sword and shackle him," he said, turning away from me. "And prepare me a horse. We're taking brother dearest of mine to the last swim he'll ever take."

_Annabeth_

We reached the _Argo_ and were greeted by a grim-faced Malcolm, sporting bloodshot eyes and straggly hair that showed he had been buried in books for the past four hours.

"Abderus said—"

"I heard," Malcolm answered grimly. I marveled at the speed news could travel in ancient Greece; it was almost as if they were all linked by one intelligence. "And we have some information you'd probably like to hear."

"Good," Jason nodded. "Can you have it ready for me, prepared and ready to be presented, in an hour?"

"Course," Malcolm nodded, and Jason slapped him on the back. "Much appreciated." The Captain of the _Argo_ turned towards me. "Annabeth, I need you to—"

Whatever Jason needed from me was cut off by the arrival of Stelios and King Pavlos himself, both riding horseback, both wearing hard expressions. The two dismounted in near synchronization and had barely touched the floor when a stable hand stepped forwards to take both reins. The Prince and the King approached the _Argo_ and a gangplank was dropped, allowing them to stride up onto the deck.

"Jason," Pavlos said as he neared. "A word, if you would?" Jason nodded and I turned away to give them space, but Pavlos called me back. "You too, Annabeth. And Hector." The three of us gathered near the King, who looked as troubled as I had ever seen him.

"It's grim," he began. "I can already tell that Theron is planning on throwing me out of my throne and replacing me, whether the court likes it or not. I wouldn't be surprised if three days after he gets power he hands the whole country over to the British."

"We won't let that happen," Jason said forcefully. "We still have two weeks to find proof that Percy can be brought back."

"The only problem with that is we _have_ no proof," Hector stressed. "Nowhere in myths does it ever say of a spirit coming back to life as a full fleshed human. How are we going to prove to the court that it's possible?"

"We have our best minds working on it," Jason replied. "If anyone can find a way, they can."

"And if they can't find a way?" Hector asked.

Jason had no reply to that.

"What we need," Pavlos said. "Is a quest. The crew of the _Argo_, journeying into the unknown to save their Captain and restore peace to Greece. That, my friends, is what will tip the public in our favor and sway the vote away from Theron."

"We're still lacking a reason to go on that quest," I said grimly.

"Have you any research in the area?" Pavlos asked, and Jason nodded. I myself was stretching my mind, trying to think of something— anything— that would lead to the secret behind resurrecting Percy. I had nothing.

"Malcolm should have it all prepared by now," he said. "You want to listen to it, I presume?" Pavlos nodded

Stelios, who hadn't said a word yet, spoke.

"We'll need to trade places," he said, looking Hector right in the eye. The Prince of Troy blinked.

"Sorry?" he asked.

"You and I,' Stelios repeated. "If the _Argo_ embarks on a quest. We would have to switch places. You would stay in Greece to help Pavlos. I would journey to save Percy."

"Why?"

"Because you're of blood to Calypso," Stelios answered. "You may have some influence over her, if the rest of us don't. And you're more a negotiator than I ever will be— I'll end up saying something in court that will ruin our chances completely."

Hector was silent for a long moment. I could see him contemplating, weighing what Stelios had said against what he really wanted. He was a warrior at heart, and the freedom that the _Argo_ presented was almost irresistible to him. On the other hand, Stelios's words rang true— Hector was an administrator more than Stelios, and he was the closest to Calypso out of everyone in Greece. If anyone could get through to the Princess of Troy, it would be him. Hector knew this, and that knowledge was forcing him into an internal debate.

Pavlos helped him out. "Perhaps," the King said. "We should learn about this quest before we decide who is going on it." He turned to Jason. "Please do show us the way."

_Percy_

I struggled the whole way, but it was no use. The skeleton warriors were strong— stronger than they should have been. Their hands dug in to my flesh painfully as they dragged me at a fast jog beside Atlas, who was trotting along on a brown horse. We were followed by a precession of other ghouls, all with ghastly features and lethal weapons.

One of the guards was in a constant struggle with Riptide. Every few seconds he would draw it off my waste and throw it as far as he could into the barren landscape. A few seconds later, the blade would pop back in its sheath, and the guard would repeat the process.

Eventually I snapped at him, "You do realize it reappears every time you throw it away, right?"

The guard's eyes snapped up to stare in to mine, empty sockets of blackness that held a flickering flame of fury. Slowly, deliberately, he drew Riptide out and tossed the blade down.

I was tempted, just for a second, to open my palm up and let Riptide appear there, where I could immediately go on the offense. Instead I just sighed and let it reappear on my waist. I would wait until the best possible moment to escape, where I could use the element of surprise and the combat skills I had gained on my quest to overpower Atlas and escape.

And then what? As far as I could see, the Underworld belonged to Atlas now and nothing I could do would oppose him. I could try to escape him, of course, but there was no doubt that as soon as I got loose they would lock the Underworld up tight and the only escape would be through Tartarus— an option I didn't even start to consider.

Finally, in the distance, I could hear a rushing of water, the sound of an angry stream running through the Underworld. I felt fear shoot through my stomach, for there are only two Rivers in the Underworld that people had reason to visit.

I had conquered the Styx.

Lethe, I wasn't so sure about.

I gave another sharp tug on the ghost holding my arm, but he didn't so much as flinch. At least he'd given up on trying to disarm me of Riptide, I thought. From up on his horse, Atlas looked at me an leered as the river drew nearer. Real fear shot through me. I didn't want to forget everything. Life had been rough for me, sure, but there were other good times in there as well. Standing on the boy of the _Argo_ as the wind whipped past me, laughing with Jason and Stelios as we drank more ale than we should have, the first sight of Greece on the horizon, the lurch of the _Argo_ catching first wind and taking off across the water. I didn't want to forget our victories, the feeling of taking an enemy ship or completing a quest. I didn't want to forget Pavlos or Jason, Nico or Hector— all the people who'd made my life worth living over the years.

I didn't want to forget Annabeth.

"Are you ready to forget, brother?" Atlas asked as the Lethe finally came into view, a surging black nightmare thirty feet across. We were standing on the edge of a cliff, watching the river roar by below us. Atlas slipped languidly out of his saddle and drew his massive sword. The two skeleton warriors released me and quickly stepped back, the group that had been escorting us forming a ring to block me in. I gripped Riptide's hilt tightly.

"Memories are curious things, you know," Atlas said softly, inspecting his blade as he spoke, not looking at me. "So fragile. You die, and they're gone. One drop of a liquid touch your body, and they're gone. What if I were to just—"

With a twitch of his head a stream of Lethe water leaped up at me. I barely had time to block it with my powers before it hit my chest. I could feel Atlas straining with his mind, trying to overpower me, trying to force the thin stream at my chest. I fought back as hard as I could, but I could feel him slowly winning. I was out of practice when it came to controlling my element.

In a last-ditch effort, I brought Riptide up and swept it sideways in the direction of Atlas, willing the blade to work, willing for it to channel my power. Riptide was a blade of the sea, and extension of my body. Forged in the depths of the sea, linked to Poseidon's throne, it honed my powers and threw the stream away from my chest, hurling towards Atlas.

He dodged, laughing, and watched the stream fall back into the river where it merged again to the Lethe. I stood tense and ready, prepared for another attack. I was half considering diving in to the river myself, hoping I stayed dry and swimming for freedom, but the idea was so terrifying that I barely thought about it. I would take my chances until forced into the black water.

"You're probably thinking that you're a son of Poseidon," Atlas said. "That you can't be wet. And I would agree with you, Perseus, but for one thing." Atlas leaned closer. "I am more powerful than you. I can dull your strength, suck at your magic until it is nonexistent and leave you at complete mercy of Lethe." He smiled viciously. "So, brother, do you want to battle wits?"

Atlas stared in to my eyes, reaching in to my soul, trying to unravel my mind. Our faces were barely five inches apart— he was leaning forwards right in to my face. His sword was dangling my his side, resting against his knee with its point dug softly into the dead earth. His grip on it was relaxed, the hand circling the pommel and not the actual hilt.

I saw the kind of opportunity that you dreamed of when fighting someone.

Letting my mind take full control, I stepped backwards and swung, Riptide flashing up as I came around in a circle, blade flashing, too fast for Atlas to react. I could feel that I was right on target; as I spun I intentionally stepped back, giving myself room to swing, giving Riptide room to kill.

Atlas moved to block, but his heavy sword stuck to the ground and dug in. With a grunt of surprise he tried to throw himself sideways, but Riptide was moving as speeds than he could only dream of matching. I could already feel a small smile of victory forming on my lips.

And then out of the ground sprouted a skeletal warrior, erupting from the earth as if Nico had summoned it, intercepting Riptide just as my blade was about to strike home. I felt the impact travel up my body as I rebounded back, Riptide falling from my grip. The skeleton shattered in to hundreds of bones, but before they had even hit the ground Atlas had swept a fist sideways and knocked me five feet back, hitting the ground hard and digging a trench where I landed.

I felt the breath leave me in a flash. He should _not_ have been that strong, not by a long shot.

His eyes ablaze, Atlas stepped forwards until he was standing over me, his face alight with fury. For a second it looked like he might kill me right there, but instead he growled, "Seize him."

Before I could struggle two of the guards lunged forwards and dragged me to my feet, their iron-tight grips on my arms preventing me from moving. Atlas spat on my face as I came up and slugged me hard in the stomach. I doubled over, coughing blood on the floor as the impact once again punched the air from my lungs.

"You just bought yourself a one-way ticket to Tartarus, brother," Atlas snarled harshly. He gestured to the guards. "Get downstream and be prepared to fish him out. I want to have the pleasure of throwing him in the pit myself when he doesn't know what to do."

As five warriors embarked to follow out his orders, the two holding me dragged me closer to the banks of Lethe. I struggled for all it was worth, but it made no difference. Pretty soon I was staring down at the black waters.

"Say goodbye to Annabeth," Atlas sneered at me, his face twisted in cruelty. I glared back, refusing to show my panic. "And to Greece. Say hello to hell, brother."

Something on the opposite bank flickered.

_Whiz—thunk_.

The Skeleton beside me shattered in to a sack of bones. I let out a yell of shock as, free of his grip, I swung out precariously over the bank of the Lethe, held in place only by the other skeleton.

_Whiz-thunk_.

The second arrow smacked Atlas right in the chest. He let out a roar of pain as he stumbled back, searching the darkness for the unseen archer. I felt my mind whirling. Who could be here, attacking Atlas? From what I had gleaned, he owned full control over the Underworld. Were spirits rebelling? Were the gods coming to take back the realm? Had the crew of the _Argo_ arrived?

I didn't have time to answer, because out of the darkness to our right a group of warriors burst into existence, wielding swords and spears, sprinting up the banks towards us. A lance hurled through the air and dropped another skeleton, and the archers across the river kept up a steady stream of arrows.

Atlas's eyes flickered from me to the approaching warriors, his eyes written in unspeakable fury, his face full of indecision. He would have time to kill me, but then his troops would be crushed and he would likely be killed. I could see the debate crashing through his mind.

I struggled against the skeleton who was still holding my arm— I was still dangled out over the river, suspended in mid-air like a fish on a reel. Atlas seemed to realize this, and his eyes suddenly lit up with realization.

Faster than I could follow, his foot snapped out, contacting the arm that was holding me and shattering the bone in half. With a yell of shock I tumbled backwards, flipping slowly through the air as the black waters of the Lethe drew closer.

I heard someone yell "_Percy!" _

As I fell I had a fleeting thought: _dry_.

Another thought, not mine, snaked its way into my mind, hissing of malevolence and hate, overpowering my own, taking control of my power and turning it against me:

WET.

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**Yup, another cliffhanger :D**

**Huge brownie points to whoever guesses who just tried to rescue Percy. This is the main plot of the book emerging, so it's pretty important. **

**Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed, followed and favourited this story— 71 reviews in two chapters! That blew my mind. **

**REVIEW**


	4. Chapter 4

**Whoa, an update!**

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_Percy_

The black water surrounded me.

I felt myself plunge into the Styx, felt the horrible feeling of the water hitting my skin, reaching out like a nest of snakes, clinging to my skin, permeating my brain, erasing my memories with alarming speed.

I broke the surface gasping— a mistake. Water entered my mouth, flowing down my throat, roaring straight to my brain. I tried to fight it, clinging to the things that made life important— the _Argo_, a sunset over Greece, the bright green sea sliding by as the wind surged us forwards— but it was no hope. The blackness of the Lethe washed over everything, erasing my memories, leaving me black as a sheet of paper.

And when it reached my Achilles heel, there was the barest flash of blonde and laughter, ringing bright in my ears. The sound brought me back to reality, back to the nightmare of the Lethe, and with a scream that I could feel reverberate through the water I forced myself up and out, breaking Atlas's hold on my mind, surging free of the river and tumbling to the bank below.

I blacked out on impact.

Linebreak

"Percy!"

My eyes shot open with a gasp, and I sat up rapidly. The group of people who had been leaning down around me leaped back in surprise as I doubled over, coughing up disgusting black water onto the dead grass at my feet. It was sitting in my stomach, heavy and disgusting, chewing away at my insides. I heaved again and more of it came up, splattering on the ground and wafting up in the air. The people around me backed up more, avoiding the water as if it was poison.

Where was I?

A ring of about twenty men were surrounding me, all dressed in ragged clothes and gleaming armor, holding weapons that looked somehow familiar. There were spears and swords, round shields and recurve bows, and every one looked as if I had seen it before. Despite their weapons the men looked uneasy, casting glances over their shoulder and looking as if they wanted to get out of… wherever we were.

The one who seemed to be the leader was standing in front of me, hands on his hips, looking at me with a worried expression. He was about twenty, wearing patched black trousers and a white shirt, with a gold breastplate clipped over it. Dangling from his right side was a four-foot long sword with a double-glinting blade.

_Backbiter. _

The word popped uninvited into my head, but before I could chase it the guy spoke.

"Percy?"

"Who's Percy?" I asked him, realizing stupidly a second later Percy must be me. He had said the name as a question, looking right at me as he did. It was obvious I was Percy.

_Jackson_.

I almost growled as another word popped in to my head. I searched my mind, trying to find where they had come from, and found… nothing.

Not nothing in the sense that I couldn't find any hint of what the random words were. Nothing as in the way my mind was completely empty, my memory gone, my knowledge wiped clean.

In a slight panic, I tried to remember my favourite play.

Nothing.

The name of my horse.

Nothing.

Did I even have a horse?

The blade that was currently clenched tightly in my right hand.

Nothing.

The guy stepped forwards again carefully, afraid I might throw up again. His hand was clenched tightly around the hilt of his sword, but his posture looked relaxed enough.

"Perce?" he asked again. "You remember anything?"

"Who are you?" I asked, which must have been answer enough. He pursed his lips angrily and stepped back.

"Damn Atlas!" he suddenly yelled. "Damn him to Tartarus and back. What was he _thinking_, throwing Percy into the Lethe like that? This is war, this is."

"Mate, this was already war," one of the others said. He was tall and dark-skinned, dressed in brown pants and an oil-stained shirt. "This was war the moment Atlas decided he could take the Underworld for his own."

I looked from one of them to the other, trying to decipher what they were saying. Who was Atlas? How was he in control of the… Underworld? Was that where I was?

I cast a look around me. If any place seemed under the world, this one was it. The ceiling was craggy rock, soaring over my head and disappearing into the gloom. We were near one of the walls to the… Underworld… and I could make out where it ended in a wall of blackness made out of the same stuff as the ceiling. Behind me there was a roaring river of blackness, heaving up over its banks, seeming to reach for mer and try to pull me back it. There was an unpleasant feeling around it, a nauseating sense of hostility and dark intent.

Barely knowing what I was doing I thrust my palm forwards from where the water was leaping up towards me. It immediately shrank back and calmed down to the speed of a normal stream, and I felt a wrenching pain in my gut.

How had I done that?

The sandy-haired guy looked at me again, his face twisted in indecision. Finally, he seemed to come to a choice, and he ordered the men around him to work.

"Jake, Polux, get everyone back here. Charles, you'll have to—"

"Don't call me Charles." The big guy bristled, glaring at the boy with sandy hair. He sighed.

"Just get the torches lit," he said tiredly. "Percy, you're going have to come with us."

"What?" I exclaimed, scrambling backwards on my elbows when he reached for me. "Who the hell are you?"

Pain flashed across his face for a second. "I used to be your closest friend," he answered. "And sometimes, your greatest enemy. We went on missions together, Percy, we ruled the seas. You and me— we were unstoppable. And know you've got to trust me."

"Dude," I said, finally finding my feet and rising uneasily up. My right hand slipped instinctively to my left hip, where I felt the reassuring shape of a sword hilt— _my _sword hilt— sitting there. "I don't even know you."

"Yes you _do_," The guy stressed. "Remember, Percy, just remember. At least try. Can't you remember me?"

"Never seen you before in my life," I answered— but I couldn't be sure of that. My memory was completely blank save the last three minutes. Who was I to say if I had seen the guy standing in front of me before or not?

From across the river, up a tall bluff, there came a bloodcurdling scream of pure, undulated fury. The black guy stepped forwards again, his voice laced with urgency.

"We've got to go, _now_," he stressed. "With or without him." He said this while looking at me, and a shiver went down my spine. I didn't want to be left with whatever was behind me to face that fury alone. But I also didn't know if I could trust the person in front of me, saying he had known me.

What if he was the one who took my memory in the first place?

The guy turned to leave, but then a thought struck him. He slung the bag from his shoulders, pulled something from inside and tossed it at me.

Numbly, I caught the beat-up leather hat that landed against my chest and held it up for inspection. It was nondescript— plain brown leather, bleached in the sun and worn from use, with three points and metal studs fixing pieces of leather in place that held up the brim. It was a normal hat.

But as I held it, a twinge of familiarity tingled down my spine.

I looked up at the sandy-haired guy, who was watching me closely.

Charles, the darker one, glanced urgently over the bank again. Another scream echoed… and it was coming closer.

"Luke, we've got to go," he said.

But Luke was watching me.

"You coming, Perce?" he asked, his voice level.

I looked down at the hat.

And back up at him.

And finally behind me, at the roaring river and the source of the screams.

Back to the hat.

I glanced up to Luke's face, guileless and somehow faintly familiar.

And I nodded.

_Annabeth_

Malcolm led us through the corridors of the _Argo_, passed the massive eating room, down a flight of stairs and finally into the library. When I walked in, I was partially shocked at what I saw.

The general rule aboard ships was that things stayed neat and tidy. With the rolling waves and threat of a storm suddenly cropping up, it was good sense to keep everything in order and locked up so that it didn't all go falling out in a rogue wind. On top of that, the _Argo_ was a warship— built and bred for battle. If a threat were to arise, the crew had no time to be sorting through junk piles looking for whatever they needed. It had to be on hand and where it should be the moment anything was needed.

Because of this, the library startled it. All the casings on the shelves were thrown wide open, banging rhythmically into the wall with the movement of the ship. Books and scrolls were piled on the ground and on the tables, lying in heaps, scattered in the worst places. Pieces of parchment were strewn across the floor like snowflakes, so many in number that they crunched under my boots as I walked in. Someone had taken one of the linen hammocks from where it hung supported by two posts and stuck it to the wall with the use of knives and then drawn all over it— presumably because they had run out of paper.

Amongst the mess bustled the entire Athena cabin, reaching for scrolls, taking notes, arguing with each other. In another breach of etiquette, several of them were dressed in the barest of clothes acceptable— the men were in breeches with only belts and t-shirts, the girls in either their stockings and no corsets or the same that the males were wearing. Amour, shirts and shoes were all thrown into one large pile in the corner.

As we stepped in, Jason halted for the barest of steps, looked around the haggard room and then shrugged. He looked around, saw there were no stools available and instead pulled over the nearest table, sweeping aside the parchments and papers that were there and sitting down on it. Malcolm arched an eyebrow.

"What?" Jason said, matching the expression. "You mess up my library, I can do whatever I want to your tables." Malcolm shrugged, conceding to the point, before digging around in a nearby pile and selecting a couple of scrolls from it. He glanced at one for the barest of seconds before making sure everyone was listening. Only then did he start talking.

"As you can see," he began , addressing everyone equally, showing no nerves at the fact he was talking directly to the king. "We've been looking at every possible option for bringing souls back to life."

"How many methods can there be?" Pavlos asked from where he had pulled up a chair, surveying the torn-up library. Malcolm shrugged.

"An infinite number," he replied. "We've looked at everything from the obvious methods, like helping Percy just walk out from some entrance to the Underworld, to the more obscure ones like the doors of death— methods that haven't been used in ages, and we're not sure if any of them would work at all. Then there are thoughts of just bringing him back in spirit and working from that— giving him the improper death rites, disturbing his grave, stuff like that. We don't think those'll work, either. Then there's the really obscure things like necromancy, or even mounting a rescue mission to the Underworld. One story recalls how a crew literally dug a tunnel until they found the Lethe and then floated down in barrels in hopes of retrieving the Captain's wife."

"What happened?" Jason asked.

"They floated all the way to Tartarus," Malcolm replied grimly. "What I'm trying to get at, through all this, is that in all of our research we've found one reliable method of bringing a soul back to life. It has the least risk and the most credibility of all the methods. If it worked, Percy would be restored good as new, fully human and with all his memories." Malcolm paused for a second, letting those words sink in. For me, they meant one thing: hope. Those words meant there was hope for Percy, hope for the _Argo_. There was hope for Greece.

There was hope for us.

People had always said you don't know what you have until it's gone, and that was true for Percy. At times he was just another person, someone sitting around the table, sharpening his sword or manning the sails like anyone else. Sometimes he was a liability— his hash-and-go plans almost always ended badly, but worse than that was his loyalty: Percy would never leave someone behind. He'd proven that when Hazam, the faithful Darker would followed us away from his homeland and into the most dangerous part of the world, got captured and Percy went after him— getting captured himself in the process.

But now that Percy was gone it was like trying to sail the ship without a hull. People might look at the sails, or the rudder or even the crew, but without the hull you didn't even have a ship. Water would flood right in and you would sink faster than a rock. Percy was our hull: constant, strong, deflecting anything that came at him. His loyalty was more a blessing than it was a curse; his stupid plans had saved the ship numerous times.

Stelios was the first to speak, and he did so impatiently.

"Are you going to tell us?" he asked Malcolm shortly. "Or are you planning on serving tea first?"

"A soul for a soul," Malcolm announced. Jason recoiled slightly; Pavlos frowned; Hector and Stelios shared a look. Even Malcolm's face twisted a little when he said it.

Nico blinked.

"What do you mean, a soul for a soul?" The King asked evenly. I hadn't heard of this either. If it meant what I thought it meant, then I wasn't sure if the deal was worth it.

"Exactly what it says," Malcolm answered, just as calm. "Hades is sometimes willing to trade a live soul for a dead soul, if the panel of judges can determine them of equal worth." He held up a hand to stop any questions. "Which means, if you want to take someone from, say, Elysium, you have to give them someone worthy of Elysium. Legends say that, if you can find a soul of equal or greater value, Hades will be willing to trade with you and release someone of your choice back to the land of the living."

"A deal with Hades?" Jason asked, and Malcolm nodded in confirmation.

"We always said we would do anything for Percy," he said grimly. "And I liked to think that was true. But the question is, are we willing to make a deal with the devil himself?"

There was silence amongst us as we considered the question. It was true, what Malcolm had said. Everyone in the room had sworn that kind of allegiance to Percy in one way or another, and all of us loved him fiercely. The problem with the plan was that it involved Hades, who could be described as cranky at best and evil most of the time. He was lord of the Underworld— dark, powerful and filled with hate— and his name held a kind of ominous threat around it that no one wanted to cross. The only one unaffected by the idea was Nico. His face was completely blank.

Nico, I knew, was a bit of an uncharted enigma. Many of the crew had never spoken to him; he stuck to the shadows like a ghost, appearing at Percy's side when needed, offering advice, confidence and above all, a ferocity and speed that was unrivaled on the boat when it came to fighting. He was powerful— scarily so, even though he rarely showed this power. In fact, that could be said for many things about Nico. He rarely used his powers, besides shadow traveling. He rarely spoke. He rarely smiled. Only once had I caught an inkling of his real power and fighting skill, when he killed the Ádi leader without blinking.

This mystery and darkness led to a faint feeling of distrust throughout the lower crew of the _Argo_— a distrust that didn't completely fade once you got to the higher levels, either. Obviously, Percy trusted him, as did most of the inner circle, but past that Nico was a shadowy figure who inspire quite mutterings wherever he went.

Now he sat completely relaxed as Malcolm cleared his throat and started talking again.

"There are two main problems," he said. "The first one is kind of obvious. I think we can all agree that Percy made Elysium?" Nods all around. "So that means to get him back, we need someone who also got to Elysium. Since I'm not on the panel of judges, I can't tell you for sure who's going to make it to Elysium."

"What happens if we get it wrong?" Hector asked. "And we try to trade Percy in for a lesser soul."

"No clue." Malcolm shrugged. "My guess? Out of spite, Hades would take both souls back to his realm, and yours as well— purely because he can."

Nico's mouth quirked slightly at this.

"Could we make a chart?" Jason suggested. "You know, take the features of souls who've made it to Elysium, compare them to the people we have and go from there? We could see who would be the best fit."

"That would work," Malcolm agreed. "Except, we don't know what souls have gone to Elysium before. That's the problem with the Underworld: any information we have is sheer guesswork."

Everyone, including me, inadvertently looked at Nico. He held up his hands.

"Don't look at me for information," he told us sourly. "Dad doesn't exactly post this kind of information on the walls, you know. Anything I know is already in the library."

"Right," Malcolm said, nodding. "That means we have no idea who to trade in for Percy."

There was a long, prolonged silence. I felt like there was pressure on me to come up with a solution, to find some loophole or secret backdoor or something, anything that would save Percy. I was supposed to be chosen by fate, raised in Britain for a reason. I was supposed to be the brightest of the bright, the best the Athena cabin had to offer.

But my mind was blank.

"What's the second problem?"

"Sorry?" Malcolm asked. Like everyone else, he was slightly startled by Stelios's question.

"The second problem," he elaborated. "You said there were two problems. You've told us about one, but not the other."

"Oh," Malcolm said, nodding vigorously. "Yeah, the second problem. That one's a bit of a toughie to solve." He hesitated for a second, casting an uneasy glance over to Nico.

"You going to tell us?" The son of Hades prompted, and Malcolm nodded several times again, clearing his throat. Finally, he spoke.

"The second problem is the Underworld is completely, totally shut down. Not Greece nor Olympus knows what's going on. Either Hades has gone rouge and is gathering a force to storm Olympus, or something even worse has happened. We don't know enough to say what just yet." Malcolm looked down and cleared his throat. "We've had no contact with Hades's realm for two weeks now. Percy's stuck down there on his own and we have no way to communicate with him."

* * *

**So, a lot of people have been asking me how I'm going to bring Percy back to life, how he's going to be fit to Captain, all of that. Guys, don't even worry about it. I have everything planned out for this, and it's going to work just fine. **

**Anyways, hoped you liked the chapter, I'd love to hear your thoughts. **

**REVIEW**


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